Mine
by Randome013
Summary: or how Aziraphale (a smitten angel) starts calling Crowley (a foe of knowledge and god, the enemy, a demon) dear. Aziraphale is a drama queen and Crowley loves it (Set after the church scene on ep 3 (the one with the violins. Yk what I'm talking about). Kinda canon divergence, I guess. Oneshot.)


Never had Aziraphale thought that he would fall.

Not after his first exchange with the demon. He still didn't regret his decision, Adam and Eve would probably have died, lacerated by a lion or another hungry beast if he hadn't given them his sword. All of humanity wouldn't exist. Crepes, Macarons, Ice Cream, everything would be gone.

Not even after the Arrangement. It was the first time an agreement was made between an angel and a demon. A compromise between good and evil. Never had two opposing sides been so close. It was a foolish and risky thing. A blasphemy against god herself. And yet, he didn't think it would happen.

And definitely nay this morning. Packing some of his more cherished books into his bag. Ready to carry out the plan he'd been working on for the last month. Sometimes, humans could be more rotten than demons.

And still, this exact moment would forever be remembered as the moment where he knew.

He fell. And for a demon of all things.

He could almost hear the violins, playing a romantic tune fitting this grand revelation.

His foolish demon, who went into a church, the epitome of holiness, to save him. His dramatic demon, who redirected a whole bomber for a thrilling exit. His breathtaking demon, who even remembered to save his precious books.

In retrospect, he might have loved Crowley for a long time. An enemy turned into a friend, and now, something more.

He didn't know why it was called _falling_ in love. This wonderful warmth in his chest, this happiness from just looking at Crowley, this feeling, almost stronger than his love for god herself. That couldn't be called falling.

The church being annihilated should probably unsettle him more.

But all he could do was stare at Crowley.

"I know you don't like it when I thank you. But really, Crowley, th..."

"Don't, angel."

Why did this nickname suddenly sound more like a pet name than a job description? Was it the softness in Crowley's voice? The slightly red hue on his cheeks he couldn't hide, although probably doing everything in his might to do just that?

"Let me at least invite you for a treat, dear. I heard the scones here are delightful."

Crowley stared strangely at him.

It took another second before Aziraphale realized what offer just came out of his mouth.

Oh sh…ortbread!

Invite one of the foulest creatures, the personification of evil, the enemy of god, a _demon_, to eat?!

S…ugar! S..paghetti! Shortbread! Salmon! Sh…rimp! Sushi!

"Ok"

Crowley seemed to have awakened out of his stupor and, ironically, released Aziraphale from his misery, if only for a moment. This one simple word sent a surge of happiness through him, bigger than the first time he tasted macarons.

"Okay, yeah… dear"

Now it was the angels turn to get red. When did they start calling each other pet names? It wa – _oh_. He replayed his scandalous invitation in his head.

_Let me at least invite you for a treat, dear._

_Dear._

Aziraphale only realized that Crowley was walking, when the demon was already a couple of meters away.

"You're going in the wrong direction… dear"

He certainly was taking a liking towards this name. And Crowley didn't seem to be against it, either.

… if Crowley had an affectionate name for him, he could have one as well.

He shoved this childish thought to his other non-angelic and shameful ones in his so called box-of-shame and took off. Now, where was this cafe he had heard so much about again?

Only after some minutes of comfortable silence did Aziraphale realize that Crowley was still carrying his books for him. What sort of angel was he, getting saved by demons and making them carry his luggage?

"You can give me my books back, my dear. I'll carry them."

…and Crowley didn't catch on his offer. Was he even perceiving his existence?

"Crowley. My books, dear."

"Oh... yeah"

The angel knew that something was wrong the moment a mischievous smile made way to his face. He knew this smile. It never meant something good. And he should be proven right.

"There only is a slight problem. I don't see your books anywhere, Angel."

"But... you're holding them. Right now. On your left hand."

The angel had no way of knowing, but he had the most adorable and confused face at the moment. Something that made Crowleys heart beat faster and almost made him kiss his adorable angel in the middle of the street. Which wouldn't be very wise, considering they were in the middle of national socialistic London. Besides the stuff with god and Lucifer, of course.

"Let me reformulate it. I don't see any books that belong to you, angel"

"I don't understand"

"Look, who saved your ass at the church"

"Well, since we are both immortal you actually-"

"WHO, ANGEL?"

"You, dear. Speaking of, how are you feeling. After entering a church an..."

"And who, angel in all his badassery and evilness, saved these precious books from turning to ashes?"

Aziraphale suppressed a smile. Evilness, indeed. Despite what the demon kept claiming, the angel knew that he was good.

"You"

The angel wasn't even trying to hide his amusement by now.

"Well, since I saved these books from turning into ashes and saved those stories"

"Prophetic books. While a story is a narration of "

"stories of being destroyed and forgotten, they now belong to me."

…huh? He didn't know anything about this rule. He wouldn't give his beloved books to anyone. No matter if they were a nosy customer or a bored demon. Admittedly a handsome and cute one, but still. Not his precious books.

"I acquired them fairly and they have been in my possession for decades! Besides that, you came to the church in your own free will, which was quite unsafe if you ask me, what means that I owe you nothing."

Crowley stared at him.

It was quite a pity that he had to use those glasses in public. One could hardly admire those beautiful eyes. Obviously, since that was, after all, the reason he wore them. He had always liked the demon's eyes. They were different. While other demons had pitch-black ones, Crowley's were a gorgeous shade of golden. One could read every single emotion in them.

His attention was – as always – reclaimed by the demon in question. To be more specific, by what the demon was doing. He was taking one of the books out of the bag. Otwell Binns

He opened his mouth.

His abnormal big tongue slowly left his mouth…

He wouldn't dare!

…and licked Binns' beautiful work.

It shouldn't astonish him like this. Crowley was, after all, a demon. The enemy of all good. The fiend. The foe of knowledge.

How did he ever fall for this buffoon?

And now, after this atrocious act, he dared smile at him with the most innocent and charming smile.

"Now it is mine"

Not content with this barbaric crime, he took another tome and slowly lifted it towards his face.

This time the victim was _Nixon's Cheshire Prophecies_.

"No! No! Crowley don't you dare! If you don't stop right now I'll – I'll"

"You'll what, angel?"

And he licked it.

The smile Crowley wore, could be described as nothing else than demonic.

Robert Nixon didn't deserve such disgraceful treatment.

"Mine"

And he took another book.

No!

Aziraphale couldn't let this atrociousness continue!

He tried getting the book, but Crowley only lifted it higher and licked it.

And then Crowley took Mother Shipton.

It was a beautiful book. Antique and marvelous. The years it took to acquire it, were one of the longest in his immortal life.

He wouldn't let it happen. Not to Ursula Southill. Or Sontheil. Or… It didn't matter! The only thing that mattered right now was to stop Crowley from

ruining this book as well.

But how would he stop it? His body, which he'd been using for over thousands of years, which had always satisfied all his needs, in which he almost felt as comfortable as in his angelic form, was too short. He couldn't use a miracle. Michael, as… authoritative as he was, had no appreciation for anything human. Including food and literature. He needed something. Fast. He couldn't let Mother fall as well. What to do? WHAT TO DO?

Crowley's wicked smile only grew as Aziraphale became more and more stressed.

It was so close.

Too close.

"Mine!"

Both timeless beings froze.

Crowley slowly put a hand on his wet cheek.

"Did you… just… lick me?"

The angel was so distraught by his actions, he missed the demon's bright red cheeks.

"I – I told you to stop!"

"So I'm yours now, angel?"

"I – you – just… Hush, dear! Just give me my books back!"

_**A/N**_

_Firstly, I want to thank thesaurus for existing._

_I kept looking for a more sophisticated way to say something, like, every second word. _

_But I was the one who chose to write in Zira's POV, so I've got no one to blame. He's so dramatic I almost chose _tragedy_ and _suspense_ as the genres._

_Reviews are greatly appreciated and needed! _


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